


if only for the night

by wereheretostay



Category: Interstellar (2014)
Genre: F/M, excuse my piss poor attempts at trying to be science, how do you? do ?? tenses?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wereheretostay/pseuds/wereheretostay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And she doesn't cry, she doesn't even look sad when she says it. It's just a mere statement, a true fact. They're going to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if only for the night

He was a tall man, tall and lean and slightly muscled. His face had a permanent shadow of stubble and more often than not dark circles under his bright green eyes. He always wore his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up three times and tucked in loosely, the one thing about him that wasn't completely professional. That, and and his unpolished dress shoes that inexplicably never failed to come untied. 

Amelia often thought that the reason she fell in love with him was because of how solid and steady he was, balancing out her often impulsive personality. He was like an anchor for her, holding her down up until the moment he left her. 

Granted, unlike a lot of scientists he based his solutions and answers on his emotions instead of facts and what was logical. That was one thing that Amelia appreciated and at the same time jealously hated about him. 

When he had first come to NASA, it was with a determined stare and alert eyes. He had talked to Professor John Brand with a faraway hint of a smile, telling him about his goals in life and how he had never believed NASA had shut down. It was his dream to go into space, although he wasn't sure if given the chance, he'd be brave enough to take it. 

He would often come home with stacks of papers and his laptop, the screen illuminating his face into the dark hours of the night as he worked. Sometimes he wouldn't even go home to his apartment; he'd stay in the lab with samples and computer screens and hard metal surfaces. After all, he only lived a few seconds in an elevator away from his work. 

For months and months he labored over his work. Amelia would talk to him, tug him back to bed with her and touch him and whisper into his ears until sleep came over him and taped his eyes shut. The mornings after he'd roll over to look at Amelia as she slept, pale cheeks and lips colored a soft, breathy pink. 

Edmunds would leave her in the mornings with a light and lingering touch before grabbing his papers and heading out their door. He didn't even bother leaving a note anymore; Amelia knew where he was going. He never went anywhere else. 

Amelia would wake up with a sigh at the sight of the empty pillow next to her. The bed would still be warm from when he left. She would wish for a window to look out of to remind her that it was summer outside despite the cold feeling that knowing she was underground gave her. 

Morning after morning it was the same. She'd brush her teeth and throw on her lab coat and slip out of her door and go meet with her father before going to the lab. Sometimes she would see Edmunds on her way to another part of the base, other times she would walk over and talk to him with no other excuse except that she wanted to hear the way he said her voice through a distracted smile. 

But one morning it's different. A break in the routine that would never grow restless as long it had bodies to complete it. 

The night before Edmunds didn't come home. Amelia had pulled on an old t-shirt and cotton underwear and climbed into bed without him there to curl up to. She had sighed to herself, because it was just that much longer she'd have to wait to feel his hands on hers.

But that morning she wakes up to his hands on her shoulders. He's shaking her, dark blonde hair mussed and green eyes faded over the hint of excitement that's laced ever-present through the dark color. He smiles a small, sad smile. One that isn't really happy, instead it's a discouraging _but, hey, we'll get through this if we don't give up._

And Amelia rubs her eyes and blinks away sleep to look around the dark room. It's still only five in the morning, Edmunds should have just been leaving, not gripping her shoulders with tight fingers. 

But there he is in his pressed white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and hem tucked in loosely into his dress slacks that were probably a little too tight for a famous NASA scientist. His beard hasn't been shaved in a few days and the light hairs tickle her cheek as he leans down to kiss her on her cheek, on her lips. 

"Wake up, Brand. I have to talk to you." 

His voice is as light and playful as ever, but somehow Amelia senses that something's wrong. There's something a little too urgent in the way he's shaking her, something that reeks of excitement and restlessness and underlying fear and disappointment in the way his voice lilts with sleep and coffee that's just barely starting to kick in. 

"Amelia, c'mon. When have you ever been one to sleep in? I gotta talk to you." 

She lifts her head and pushes herself off the mattress with a soft groan. Slowly she turns to cock her head at him, still blinking the fuzziness out of her eyes as she yawns with her mouth closed. "What is it?"

His smile is sadder now as he sits down on his side of the bed. "Do you know what today is?"

"Yes.. The launch of the rangers for the Lazarus Missions. But that's not until eight." Amelia thinks for a moment. It's creeping in now, suspicions that cause her brow to knit and her lip to furl, but she doesn't let herself go there yet. "Why?"

"You know how Dr. Rowe's been coughing and missing work lately? He came down with something - some sort of lung infection. They think it might be a tumor, or just an abnormality in his wind pipe. You'd know more about it that I do, anatomy and all. But, um..." Edmunds pauses. His smile falters before disappearing all together when he looks at Amelia's worried eyes. Not worried for Rowe, but worried because she _knows._ Her eyes say it all, the way she's biting her lip and beginning to shake her head. "Your father told me at the very start of this project that if anything were to happen to any of the twelve, I would be the replacement. I was like the guy who sits on the bench at practice. It wasn't very likely, and that's why you were never told. But I've been studying the same things Miller and Mann are, working with them, because I'll be taking Rowe's place." 

Amelia's eyes are wide, she's hugging herself and rocking back and forth. She doesn't talk, because there's nothing for her to say. No questions. Today. Gone. He'll be gone. 

She doesn't cry, not yet. She blinks her eyes shut tightly before covering her face with her trembling palms. She doesn't know what to say or what to feel, but her whole body is screaming out one word-

No.

He grabs her hands in his and pulls them away from her face and towards his chest. "Listen, I'll talk to you every day. Tell you everything about passing Mars and Jupiter, going through the wormhole, about my planet. I'll tell you all about it until the day I can hold you in my arms again."

"No, no no, Wolf, don't try to pretend! Even if your planet can somehow support life, by the time I get there who knows if you'll be dead?" Edmunds is the one crying now, tears running in wobbly wet lines down his cheeks and falling onto their tightly twined fingers. "Wolf, don't lie to yourself."

"How else am I supposed to get through this?" He takes a deep breath. He hadn't imagined it going this badly - he thought he'd probably cry, and Amelia would too, before wiping her eyes and setting her jaw. But Amelia... she sounds _mad_. Mad that he's leaving, mad that she has to stay back on Earth, mad that they are taking her lover away from her and hurling him into something that could result in the worst death imaginable. 

Amelia does something unexpected. She laughs, the loud sound coming unexcused from her lips just like the tears had. There's a hint of cruelty to it, but it fades away when she squeezes his hand. She sighs, smiles a smile to match the one that had only seconds ago crossed his face. Takes a deep breath. "I'll talk to you everyday."

Their lips find each other with comfortable ease and as they press their bodies tightly together time slips by. It's gone from them like words that weren't supposed to be said, never to be taken back again. Valuable minutes that are gone but yet not wasted. 

Edmunds stands up, removes himself from the woman who clings to him tighter than she'd like to admit. Brushes off his shirt, as if the sadness in her eyes seeped out of her skin and onto the fabric. He smiles at her. He closes the door behind himself. 

He doesn't even have to say, "See you at eight," or "You're coming, right? because he knows Amelia'll be there. She'll be there to stare up after him, his body encased in the thin, cold metal container that would be his home for the next several months. Wishing to hell she was going up with him. 

She knows it's incredibly selfish - she should be happy for him, happy that he's going to save the world, going to save their entire _species_ \- but she can't bring herself to feel anything but pain. It's a deep, dull pain that gnaws in the space between her thin ribs and under her temples. It cries out at her, tells her to chase after him and beg him not to go, but she can't. And she won't. 

Calmly she goes, dressed in black slacks and a cotton shirt under her lab coat. Her red eyes are hidden under thick makeup a shade too dark for her pale complexion. She digs her nails into her forearms, bites her lip, blinks away the tears because she can't cry here. She can't cry here in front of everyone.

Her father stands up in the the front with men that Amelia has grown up surrounded by, and she suddenly hates them. They're up there congratulating the brave men and women who agreed to do this. Save our species, they're saying. Find us a new home. 

She has to hold back a laugh. Most, if not all of them are going to die out there with nothing except the weightless darkness to hold their hand, she realizes for the first time,. They're not going to find a new home.

Edmunds meets her eye. It's a fast glance, out of the corner of his eye as he scans the crowd. He looks away before the tears that brighten his eyes can fall. Then again as he's climbing up the steps into the shuttle. He smiles this time, blows her a kiss. It's so cheesy, and Amelia can't help but laugh at the way one side of his face curls up with his grin. But it quickly disappears and she's frowning again as the door closes behind him.

Every night after she prays for him. She's never been a religious one, but she does it anyway. Prays that his planet will, through some faint miracle, be the one. Prays that he'll find it before she's dead and gone and withered into nothing. 

She washes the bedding every week because for some reason she still smells him on the sheets. She packs up his razor, his toothbrush, cologne and shampoo. Moves his shoes from the door and into another box. Puts his worn guitar into its bulky case because she doesn't have the patience to learn even if she wanted to. The boxes go into a storage closet full of mattresses and light bulbs and she never walks in there again.

Some of his things stay in the apartment, though. She reads his favorite books over and over again, starts using his wallet as her own. His clothes still hang in his side of the closet and dresser and sometimes Amelia will slip into one of his t-shirts and striped boxers and climb up outside to look at the stars. 

One day Amelia loses track of how long it's been since he's left. She breaks down in the middle of the hallway because she just can't remember if it's been three years and two months and seventeen days, or three years and two months and _eighteen_ days. 

She walks into her father's office and collapses in his arms. He looks at her like she's a lost child, sits her down in his desk chair and pours her a cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar because she hates it black. 

She's drinking the hot coffee when it hits her. It really hits her for the first time in three years and she sputters around the coffee that burns all the down her throat. "We're all going to die."

And she doesn't cry, she doesn't even look sad when she says it. It's just a mere statement, a true fact. They're going to die. 

"We're going to starve, and then suffocate, probably before they can even find a new home for us, by whatever grace is still left in the world." Amelia looks up at her father with empty eyes. 

"You're most likely right, Amelia. But you mustn't dwell on it. That causes too much pain, too much worrying and suffering that doesn't need to be thought about yet. Have some faith. Tell yourself hey're going to find a new home for us." Gently, he grabs her hand as if he's going to break her skin under the weight of his fingertips. He talks slowly and hesitantly, smiles small tender smiles at her as if she can't bear the mere thought of happiness. "Have you been taking your medication?"

"God, Dad, you sound like my old therapist. Don't talk like that or else I'll stop seeing you just like I did her." She shakes her head, sighing, dipping into her own thoughts again before waving a finger in the air and looking up at him. "And, no, I haven't been taking my pills. They make me tired and right now I just can't stand to sleep." 

What she doesn't tell him is that she hasn't been sleeping anyways. She hasn't been eating, either. Instead she buries herself into her work day and night because she has nothing else do do.

She'll admit it, she'll admit she's depressed. She's falling, falling, falling, into something terrible and empty and cold and she doesn't even know what it is yet. She doesn't sleep because his face lives in the dark of her eyelids when she closes them. His voice whispers in her head when she's alone and inky fingers crawl into her mind and rip out the memories she's tried so desperately to keep locked up. 

Her eyes are closed now and his hand is on her shoulder. "Amelia, sweetheart. You can't do this to yourself." She knows it's bad, for God's sake, he called her sweetheart for the first time in what must have been ten years. "You can't do this to yourself."

\----------

It took her seven and a half years. 

It wasn't sudden, either. She didn't just wake up and cease to imagine him in the bed next to her. Every single day for seven years she had told herself to let him go. Every day she had woken up and her skin was paler than it was the day before. Her eyes looked sadder than they had ever before and body felt fragile and weak and vulnerable. The veins on her skin seemed to stand upright below her skin like what was left of her memory of him was running through her blood like a toxin. 

But one day she woke up and things didn't seem so bad. Her head wasn't pounding and her soul didn't ache as bad as it did when she was crying herself to sleep over a bottle of frowned-upon whiskey. Oh, she still missed him and it hurt like hell to remember his face. But the rare signal he sent back to the base reminded her that he was still alive. Maybe there was still a chance of seeing him again.

She threw herself back into her work with her father and Doyle and Romilly, two men she had become close to over the years. The decade they had give themselves to figure out gravity and travel to a new home was almost up. They had to start plan B. 

Amelia studied anatomy, studied and worked and imagined a future for the cases in the lab that would turn out to be the last hope for the human race. Time was running out. Soon she'd be shooting off into a new galaxy and hopefully to a new home. 

Until he showed up. 

He came with his daughter in a faded blue pickup truck, sporting wire cutters and a scowl that threatened to tear the robot in front of his to pieces with a mere blink. His voice had a soft drawl that Amelia hadn't heard on anyone since her mother and his eyes conveyed so much love and wisdom that Amelia couldn't bear to look at him without pitying him for what he'd gotten himself into and how much he had to leave on merely a faint hope of answers when he returned.

The eggs were fertilized, the ship was ready to go. Cooper's eyes were sad and Amelia's heart was beating harder than she had given it permission to do as they left the very air that they had taken for granted and looked out onto the stars. The signals from Mann and Miller days before they left had looked hopeful. They were going to pass through time itself on their way to a new home. 

A new home with Edmunds. 

She pushed him out of her mind because she was a scientist and not a character in a soap opera, but the chance at seeing him again threw itself at her over and over again. She nodded her head in agreement when they went to Miller's planet because hers had the best data. Brand was a scientist; it was only logical and she understood. But when Cooper told her that they were choosing Mann over Edmunds - in that moment she hated him with all of her being. 

But as she spends the first night in her new home alone she yells and swears and cries because Edmunds is dead and she will soon be dead and it feels like her heart has been dragged out of her body and hurled into the sun because the tears won't stop and neither will the thoughts that reach down her throat and choke her until she's shaking in a ball in the corner of her tent on her new, empty, and barren home. 

She buries him the the first day of the second week without any trace of emotion because it's all been sucked out of her until there is nothing left to feel except a wicked hatred that leaves a sharp and fast pain like pinpricks over her skin. The dust blows into her eyes as she walks back to camp and tries to gain back her sanity.

**Author's Note:**

> so I have this idea that when Cooper comes to Edmunds' planet Brand says something about starting a new life and family and that she wants him to call her Amelia because she's trying to separate herself from her dad and her old life. and Cooper ends up calling her Ames. but then I have this other idea that she loves her father and misses him desperately even with all that he's done, and so she wants to be called Brand as to not distance herself from such a major part of her life. I really can't decide between the two (and I'm also biased because I like Brand better than Amelia) but I'm telling myself her father calls her Amelia and Edmunds does only when he's being really serious or he's mad (because they joke about going by last names only since she everyone calls him Edmunds. srsly what happened to first names) and everyone else calls her Brand. 
> 
> I have all these crazy headcanons about the two of them. I really love how much of Edmunds' character is left up to imagination - I'm able to create a completely new and original yet canon character and I love that. I feel like Edmunds is def a dog person ahhh
> 
> and this concludes Rachel's useless end notes that she insists on posting when probably no one! gives a crap about. hope you enjoyed


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